Withdrawal
by RRfan4life
Summary: Rachel deals with her and Ross's breakup, and finds that things aren't as easy as she would like. [one shot]


Withdrawl  
By: Caity

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Bright/Kauffman/Crane (but I'd be glad to buy them for a reasonable price)

**A/N:** Yes, its been awhile :-). I really randomly whipped this up last night. Its pretty dang short (I hadn't really realized how short, bleh), just a little one about Rachel after TOW The Morning After. I have no idea what the future of Sleight of Hand will be, unfortunately. I just kinda fell out of it, and I would like to get back into it someday, but we'll have to wait and see. Been busy lately, too.

Well, anyways, reviews are 3 as always. Hope y'all enjoy.

* * *

She stopped her hand an inch above the phone.

It was habit, now, that she should call him. She didn't even think twice about it. Maybe she had to, now. Just another little detail that would change, something else she'd have to get accustomed to. There was way too much of that lately.

It gave her a heavy heart to think about it.

These days, even something as little as that depressed her. She thoughts things over in her head, playing them on repeat until the record broke in her mind. How could they have let things get so out of hand? She didn't understand it. He had meant _everything_ to her. And she thought she'd meant everything to him.

She tried, she tried _so hard_ to blame him. To hate him, to curse his name, to write him out of her life. It _hurt_ so see his face, to know he was once hers, that she used to wake up to see him already watching her every morning. It physically hurt. She had to make it seem like she hated him. That was the only way to deal with it; to _pretend_.

Everyone probably knew she was faking. That they both were. She hoped, at least, that he was faking too. She didn't want him to hate her, especially knowing that she couldn't get to that point.

It was terrible, this battle. Wanting to despise, yet being forced to care. And she did care about him still, only she didn't know why. The look on his face when she entered a room was enough to break her. It was all she could do to not embrace him, bury her face in his chest, and feel his strong arms envelope her. To let the simple act of them holding each other take away every little worry they had.

It used to be that simple. It couldn't be now.

Their relationship never seemed simple on the outside. It had taken so much to finally get to the point where everything finally felt like it fit; that it wasn't all chaos and intense feelings at inappropriate times. It all fell into line, something so unlikely for the two of them. Everyone would talk about their history, their fate of being together, whatever. But she never really looked at it like that. She loved him, bottom line. He loved her, end of story. Why add to that?

Although, with the way things turned out, maybe it _hadn't_ been that simple. Couldn't he have understood how important this job was to her? Yes, it cut out a lot of time for them, but . . . it felt like she had so much time now. Empty hours, filled with longing and emptiness.

Had she taken him for granted? Her mind wandered. Even though she wanted to point the finger at him, she still kept finding faults in herself. Some small ways _she_ influenced the outcome. She worked a lot, she hushed his Mark suspicions instead of talking to him about it. But still . . . did he really have to sleep with her? Had he really thought that would make things better?

God, and the entire night, all she wanted was for him to come back and burrow under the sheets with _her_.

She felt a little anger, but mostly pain. Her whole being ached.

Now sprawled out over the window seat, she curled into a ball underneath her woven afgan and closed her eyes to the outside. Her forehead pressed into window, the frosted glass giving her a welcomed sting. _Forget_, she told herself. _For just a minute, try to forget._

A few moments of heavy, comfortable silence filled in the existing space. Her breathing evened out.

All too soon, an onslaught of images bomarded her peace. Teeth dragging across her lower lip, a hand gliding down a sweaty back, kisses on her neck threatening to overtake her. Her cheek against a strong chest, fingers entwined in hers, a soft whisper into her ear.

_I love you._

Her eyes snapped open, only to be met by their electric blue reflection in the window. She was breathing impossibly hard, and felt a cold sweat bead glide down her temple. She felt disoriented and sick to her stomach, and she could barely even remember where she was. Her mind filled with an echo of that voice.

The phone rang.

One hand covering her eyes, the other one instinctively reached out for the nearby phone.

"Hello?", she croaked.

"Rach?"

"Oh . . .hi."

Awkward, fumbling. Her mind went numb.

"Are you sick? You don't sound good."

"I'm fine," she lied, trying with all the strength she had left to ignore the worry in his voice. Worry for _her_.

"Okay. You sure?"

"Yes, Ross."

"Well, alright." He didn't sound too convinced. "Is Monica there?"

"No, sorry. She's out."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll . . . see you."

"Yeah."

And the line cut out. She kept the phone at her ear, the invasive noise of the dial tone resounding in her ear. She blankly stared out into the room, focusing on nothing in particular.

It really _wasn't_ as simple as loving someone. And it certainly wasn't simple enough as _stopping_.

Her head hurt, her eyes stung, her heart weighed her down. She finally hung up the phone, giving up on herself and letting bittersweet memories crash through her thoughts like waves, each one just as addictive and poisonous as the last.

She missed him. _That_, at least, was simple enough.


End file.
